


Love Isn't Always Fair

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), natalieashe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cheating, Established Relationship, Love Triangles, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is in a long term relationship with Gareth Mallory that they have managed to keep from MI6.  Bond has had his eye on the Quartermaster for some time.  Q feels under appreciated and neglected.  Why is love never straightforward?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fusterya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fusterya/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



> For Claudia who wanted a story where Q was initially with someone else but ended up with Bond. As usual with me, my dear, prompts never really go exactly to plan, but I hope you like it.
> 
> And for Boffin, the most patient writing partner in the world, who actually grins when I say 'I had this thought... and I started another one...'

“Slightly unprofessional isn’t it? Two senior colleagues, engaging in a relationship.” The voice sounded so close to his ear Q should have jumped. Would have, had he not caught sight of Bond’s reflection in the glass door, approaching silent as a shadow. The bright white of his shirt seemed to float. The black of his suit merged with the general darkness of the reflected garden. Inside the reception was still in full swing, but he needed air. And quiet. And solitude, just for a few. Too much to hope for.

“Problem, 007? You have been badgering me for weeks about my ‘plus one’, and as I told you repeatedly, I would be accompanied by my long term partner. Now your curiosity is satisfied.” His lover stood on the far side of the room, elegant in his dark suit, laughing with the father-of-the-bride. He had one arm curled around the slim woman’s waist, almost as proud as her father.

Bond snorted quietly. “You’re not old enough to have a long-term partner. What is it? Six months?” He glared across at his superior. Mallory was waving a champagne flute, telling an amusing story. The light from the impressive chandelier bounced off his thinning head. Uncharitable, but really. M and the Quartermaster. If it wasn’t so ridiculous he might be amused. He was certainly not amused.

“Eight years actually” Q said quietly. It was impossible to hope to keep their relationship a secret once Gareth took the role of M. Declarations of interest existed on file somewhere. Next of kin details. Still, they’d managed six months. Only Moneypenny knew in all that time.

And then the bitch decided to get married and invite them both to the wedding. He hated her as much as he loved her. “Come separately if you like, but I’m putting ‘and partner’ on your invitation,” she informed him over cocktails three months ago. “It's one of Dominique’s issues. Can’t stand odd numbers.”

Q didn’t believe in marriage and said so, backing his arguments with statistics and a few drunken sniffs. How could she do this to him? Bitch! Gareth, of course, was like a benevolent uncle, welcoming the news delightedly, inviting the pair to dinner, kissing the delectably French fiancee, even offering to contribute to the festivities after a few too many celebratory cognac’s. Moneypenny declined with a peck on his cheek, but gave him a special reading in the service, that he delivered with composure despite the small tear of pride that welled in the corner of his eye. Q really fucking hated her.

And now Bond had tracked him down, as Q knew he would. He had been circling like a shark scenting blood from the moment he had spotted Q standing at the door handing out the Order of Service. Yes, the bitch had even roped him into the wedding party, in spite of his general objection to nuptials. It had been comical to watch the agent grind to a halt halfway across the hotel lobby when he saw just who had his arm casually around Q’s waist.

“Eight fucking years?” Well, Q supposed it was that shocking to someone who’s longest relationship was eight weeks. “He has to be twice your age. Did he pluck you ripe from school?”

“Fuck off, Bond.” Q turned away from the glass doors and ran lightly down the steps onto the lawn. The lights from the patio only reached part way and Q headed for the shadows, digging in his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. The annoying agent followed. He offered the pack to Bond who took it and slipped it into his pocket. “Hey! Give it back.”

“I hate the taste of cigarettes. And if you’re sneaking down here to smoke I suppose Daddy isn’t keen either” the agent smirked. “So come on. How serious is it? You don’t live together. I’ve been to Mallory’s home. Dropped you at your flat. Definitely separate abodes, or is that all for show? Or security?”

Q would like to say yes to either/or, but no. They had talked about it a year ago, shortly after Q’s recruitment to MI6. And the year before that. Probably several times before that. Gareth was always polite, listened fondly to all the reasons Q wanted them to move in together, and then patiently and convincingly told Q all of the reasons the status quo was best for both of them. Gareth’s appointment as his superior was the final nail in the co-habiting coffin.

“Don’t call him that” was all he said. “I don’t have Daddy issues” and why the fuck did he say that? “I’m actually older than I look.” And that wasn’t making it worse at all.

Bond was laughing at him. “Whatever, Q. I just want to know how strongly you’ll object if I kiss you?”

Q goggled at him. “Why on Earth would you want to do that? And that’s hardly professional either, is it? Technically I’m your superior and that's no different to-“

Bond was right in front of him, so close Q could feel the warmth of his body although they weren’t touching. “No different to-?”

In the darkness they were colourless, but Q fancied when he looked into Bond’s eyes he could see the intense blue he knew them to be. Afterwards he would blame the champagne, even though he’d barely tasted half a glass. Eight years. Eight fucking years, and he was tired of being shut away. “Shut the fuck up, 007, and kiss me.”

When they broke apart they were both silent for a few moments. The party seemed a long way off, music and laughter dimmed to a dull throbbing headache. The slap of Q’s palm connecting with Bond’s cheek seemed to ring out. When he almost ran back towards the hotel Bond didn’t follow.

When Bond eventually returned to the celebrations he headed straight for the bar, ordered a double whisky and scowled at the room. “Why so miserable, Mister Bond?” Moneypenny giggled, hopping up onto the bar stool beside him as elegantly as she could in the stunning bridal gown. She struggled until Bond offered a gentlemanly steadying hand.

“I believe you are tipsy, Miss Moneypenny. Or is it Mrs Martinez? Perhaps I am mourning the loss of the most beautiful woman never to be in my bed.”

“Still flirting, James?”

“Always,” he chuckled.

His smile froze in place as he caught sight of the dancing couple. Mallory swayed, face flushed from the champagne and genuine happiness for his favourite and her new wife, the fine strands of his hair in disarray. Q was tucked beneath his chin, face pressed into the older man’s chest, body following the gentle movements of his lover. Moneypenny followed James’ gaze.

“Adorable aren’t they?” she giggled. “I couldn’t believe it when I first found out. M always seemed so stuffy, and Q was just, well… Q! But they’re good for each other. And Q is besotted!”

“Is he indeed?” he stroked his cheek absently. “Besotted.”


	2. Chapter 2

“007,” Q greeted without even looking up from his workstation. Lines of code scrolled past as he held one finger on the keyboard, scanning for that one elusive bug that was causing one of his programmers such issues. “You have been staring at me for the last twenty minutes. Do you have something for me, or do you enjoy appearing vacant?”

He knuckled his glasses up his nose, finally meeting Bond’s eyes, cocking his head curiously at the intense blue gaze. “What?”

“Your office” and he was striding away to the corner room without looking back.

Q’s back hit the door with a thud loud enough to startle half of his department though no one approached the office. No one wanted to take on a furious 007 again. They would turn a blind eye, a deaf ear and whatever other senses needed to be blanked out, and pretend that they hadn’t a clue what was happening in the office.

Bond’s hand was fisted in his hair, his mouth hot and everywhere at once. His other hand tugged Q’s shirt free of his trousers, fingers sliding beneath to grip the slim man’s narrow waist. The pads of his fingers kneaded the soft dip between the hard rise of his hip and curve of ribs, and Q groaned, cock twitching in his pants.

“What the hell do you do to me, Quartermaster?” Bond chuckled against his neck, nosing into the hollow beneath Q’s ear. He pinned the smaller man to the door with his hips, one muscular thigh pressed between Q’s legs. “You stood me up, so I had to come looking for you.”

“I’m working, 007. I said I would let you know if dinner was convenient. It isn’t, and this is doing nothing for my reputation with my staff. Desist.”

Bond pulled back. “Desist? Seriously?”

Fuck, no, but. “Yes. Seriously. You can’t just come marching into my department and do this. And don’t be obtuse by asking why. You know why.”

The door slammed so hard the wall rattled.

* * *

“The Foreign Minister is an idiot if he thinks we’ll follow that course of action. We’ll be forced to pull the agents out and let things happen as they will. The PM is furious, and…” Gareth fell silent, aware that his dinner companion wasn’t listening to a word. He sighed imperceptibly, always wary of showing any form of irritation with his lover. He refilled their wine glasses and the clink of glass against crystal finally drew Q’s attention.

“Sorry. Miles away. You were saying?” Q took a sip of his wine and pasted an encouraging smile on his face.

“Not important.” Gareth smiled, eyes crinkling fondly in the corners. “You’re working too hard. Putting too many hours in that aren’t necessary. You have a team, so use them.”

“Some things just need my touch. 007, for example” and Christ, did he say that out loud? Gareth gave him a curious look. “Missions. Won’t run for anyone else. Needs a delicate touch,” he clarified.

Delicate, not nearly. Nothing delicate about the agent once he decided what he wanted, and apparently he’d set his sights on Q. It was annoying. And thrilling. And needed to be kept as far from MI6 as bloody possible, but the vexing agent didn't seem to care a jot for either discretion or propriety. So far Q had turned down half a dozen dinner invitations with varying degrees of firmness and each ended with a visit to his office. They progressed rapidly from brief stolen kisses to this afternoon’s encounter. Q shifted in his seated recalling the drag of Bond’s dry hand over his cock, rough, uncomfortable, but oh so good…

“I would have thought a sledgehammer would be more in order for Bond and Trevelyan both” Gareth said wryly. He began to gather up the plates, carrying them from the dining room into the impressive kitchen. “Do you want dessert?” He called back over his shoulder.

Q sighed. Once upon a time he was dessert but that was before they’d settled into this dull routine. Three or four times a week they shared dinner. Twice a week he was permitted to stay over. They enjoyed a pleasant dinner then retired to bed for satisfactory sex. Satisfactory, not exciting or passionate or knee-trembling. It was loving, considerate, practiced and familiar. They always showered afterwards and dressed in pyjamas before falling directly asleep until the alarm sounded at 5am. Q would rise and dress, kiss him goodbye and return to his flat, or more often, direct to TSS.

Gareth returned with raspberry pavlova for each of them even though Q hadn’t indicated a desire for pudding. Q smiled his thanks and dutifully ate it. Gareth loved him and in return he… Cared deeply. Quite when passionate love had segued into caring Q wasn’t sure but the truth was there. He loved Gareth, but was no longer in love with him.

“I need to travel to Berlin early next week. Why don’t you take some personal days and join me? I will be tied up in meetings most of the time but we can have dinner together. I’m sure you can find plenty in the city to entertain you.” Gareth ruffled his hair as he removed their dessert plates and Q froze. A paternal gesture, fond.

"I think I'll go up. Read for a while. Do you mind if I take my wine?”

“No, no. Please do, I’ll join you shortly. Few calls to make, bit of paperwork, then I’m all yours.” Gareth smiled and drew Q’s chair back so he could stand. Q tilted his cheek for the expected kiss and made his way slowly upstairs to the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond leaned against the railings, cigarette in hand, staring out at the lights of London reflected in the Thames. Bloody Q had got him back into the habit. The riverside restaurant had been Q’s choice, surprisingly classy considering the location squeezed between popular bars. It didn’t seem the type of establishment Mallory would frequent. He wondered if that was deliberate on the younger man’s part, No chance of being recognised.

Q paced just outside the restaurant, mobile clamped to his ear. He had accepted the call as they were leaving, giving Bond a curt “Gareth. I have to take this.” They had been talking for fifteen minutes and Bond was growing bored. He tossed his cigarette butt away glaring at a well-dressed woman who tutted at his littering, and crossed the road, halting Q with an arm around his waist, burying his lips against the side of his neck. Q gave an undignified squeak and tried to escape his arm but the agent’s low chuckle vibrated deliciously against his skin.

"I have to go” he said into the phone, and hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. Bond continued to kiss his neck and Q leaned into him, saying goodbye to his partner, trying to get him off the line. “Yes, dinner Thursday as usual. Yes, you too.” He hung up and turned in Bond’s arms, winding his hands around the back of Bond’s neck and kissing him deeply. “You bastard. Don’t you do that to me again or….”

“Or what?” Bond was already descending on his lips once more. His kiss was demanding, crushing the young man to him, heedless of the jeers from the smokers outside the bar next door.

“Or tonight will be the only time you get to take me to bed,” Q whispered hardly believing he was going to go through with this. 

Their frequent office encounters had to stop. He was a professional, for fucks sake. One of the senior staff of MI6. Some of his staff had started to avoid eye contact for several hours after he emerged from one of his 'meetings'. The thrill was not worth losing the respect of his team permanently. And so…. Dinner. The invitation finally accepted. Gareth in Berlin. An itch to scratch and then they would be done. He was sure it was the same for Bond. They’d sleep together. Maybe twice. And then it would be done.

“My place or yours?” Bond asked, drawing him along the path towards the main road where they could hail a black cab.

"Yours" Q said decisively. Gareth rarely ventured to Q’s flat, and they had never had sex there, but it made him uncomfortable to think of fucking Bond in a space that could be associated with his partner. Guilt, he supposed. Although he seemed to be experiencing an appalling lack of remorse, and a massive degree of anticipation.

Bond’s flat was at the opposite end of the spectrum in style from Gareth’s home. Sleek modern furniture, black leather sofas and glass. Minimalist and obsessively neat, or perhaps it was simply that Bond never stayed long enough to acquire clutter. 

"Would you like a drink?" Bond brandished a bottle of chilled champagne. Q didn’t care much for the stuff but it felt like an occasion to try something new.

“Only if you’re planning on bringing it to the bedroom? Whatever helps to get you in the mood” Q smiled archly.

“That's not a problem,” Bond grinned and collected up a couple of flutes, leading the way to a double door off the lounge. 

If Bond was disappointed that Q didn't exclaim at the impressive bedroom he didn’t let it show. In a lineup of bedrooms Q would have picked this out as Bond’s immediately, but he was used to luxury. Dense soft carpet and high thread-count didn’t phase him, although the statement 'nude in oils' mounted over the bed certainly drew attention. “Nice arse” Q quipped. “Anyone we know?”

Bond handed him a glass looking up at the imposing figure. “Actually I did know him. Though that's the only time I’ve ever seen him naked. Not really my type” he pulled Q closer, wrapping one arm around his waist, letting his other hand drop to Q’s arse. “I prefer a leaner man.”

Bond surprised himself. It wasn’t a line to get Q into bed. Apparently chatting up, or seduction of any kind, was unnecessary. Q was already naked and encouraging him likewise. And really, why resist when he’d wanted him for so long? He fell onto the bed, rolling Q beneath him and pinning him with his hips. One hand tangled in Q’s hair holding the man in place while he claimed his mouth. Q whimpered, grabbing the back of Bond’s head like a drowning man needing to steal his breath.

“Fuck me Bond.” The command was moaned into the short blond strands of his hair. Bond bit and licked at Q’s collarbone and neck, slick fingers buried deep in the pleading man’s arse. Q’s stiff cock brushed Bond’s forearm every time he flexed his hand, and the young man tried to angle his body to find some kind of satisfaction.

“With pleasure” Bond growled, flipping him onto his front and dragging him to his knees. Sinking into tight heat. Feeling the drawn out groan of pleasure vibrate through his palm in the centre of the young man’s back. “Oh fuck. Wanted this.”

"Please” Q begged, and Bond took, pulling the slight man up against his chest. 

Q wanted and needed it. Just a fuck, just a fuck, he justified, with every thrust into his body. No feelings to be hurt, no consequences. And “oh fuck!!” he gasped, climax ripped from him by Bond’s fist.

And after. Lying on rumpled damp bedding, lube and Bond's cum sticky on his arse, the agent pressing kisses to his shoulders and stroking his hip. Fulfilled. Sated. Languid. Just one night.

Q’s phone rang. He ignored it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am out of town this weekend you will get doubled up chapters from now on. Well... Got to be better than a three day break in the middle lol

“Mulligan is up ahead, Bond. He just skipped down the steps from the museum. Moneypenny will intercept him at the hotel so back off for now.” Q angled the CCTV camera to follow his part-time lover down the Grenoble street. R had eyes on Moneypenny, and Mulligan wasn’t expected to be a threat so he was free to indulge in a few moments of Bond in an open necked white shirt and jeans that hugged his arse in a pleasing manner.

“Are you ogling me Quartermaster?” Noticing the movement of the camera, glancing directly at it with a grin.

“Absolutely not. Just checking everything Is still in working order,” Q said primly, taking a sip of tea. “Certainly seems to be well maintained.”

“You are truly terrible at flirting, Q” Bond broke into a jog, concerned not to let Mulligan get too far ahead. “So, if the lovely Mrs Martinez is taking care of Mulligan, does that leave me time to see the sights? Do a spot of shopping? I picked something up yesterday I just know you’ll love. Something we can both enjoy next weekend when we’re together.”

Q glanced around but no one else was in hearing distance. R’s headset was in place and she was joking with Moneypenny. Even so he settled his own headset over his ears and lowered his voice. “About that…”

“Don’t you cry off on me again, Q. Whatever stupid function he’s talked you into this time, you know you’ll hate it and he won’t even notice. You should be with me. Drinks, dinner, sex. You promised.”

“Don’t whine, 007, it doesn’t become you. I said maybe” Q snapped. “I am not free to fulfil your every whim. I have a partner, to whom I have an obligation.”

"Obligation, Q. That, right there, is why you should decline his invitation and accept mine.” He watched Bond slow to a casual stroll as he approached the hotel. R signalled that Moneypenny had engaged Mulligan. “Please find a seat in the lobby and await further instructions. Q out.”

Bond crossed the honey marble floor and sank into one of the large leather armchairs. A server appeared in front of him almost immediately.

"Would you like anything from the bar, sir? Or coffee, perhaps?”

His espresso arrived less than ten minutes later, along with a sense of frustration at his Quartermaster. Q was treating their relationship as some kind of casual affair to spice up his sex life, scoffing at all of Bond’s attempts to convince him otherwise. And fucking hell, this meant something, to him at least.

An hour and two espressos later Q was back on the comms. “Moneypenny struck out. Not his type apparently and no interest in the property we thought they were using. Over to you. Make it good Bond. We need this information by close of play this evening or the cargo will have been lost.”

“Am I to whore myself again for you?” Bond asked bitterly, rising and straightening his jacket, strolling to the bar. Nodding politely at the beautiful dark haired woman as he held the door for her.

“For England, 007. Hardly for me.”

“Are you quite sure about that, Q?”

"We are all bound by the promises we make, 007. Those we make for love bind us the tightest,” Q said softly.

* * *

 

A mobile was ringing. Q suspected it had been for some time by Gareth’s muttered complaints as he attempted to lean over Q to the bedside table to retrieve it. Gareth didn’t approve of mobiles in the bedroom so MI6 had installed one secure landline into the room so M could be contacted in emergencies. It’s ring was shrill enough to wake the dead instantly, which was how Q came to realise the ringing could only be his mobile. Not his usual ringtone though. His brain, hazy with sleep, took an appallingly long time to realise it was the tone he’d set for Bond.

Gareth already had the mobile in his hand and was attempting to silence it, rather than answer. “Isn’t Bond in France?” The mobile thankfully stopped shrieking and Q exhaled slowly, holding out his hand to take it and switching it to silent.

“I believe so” Q cringed. “He’s due back on Thursday.”

Gareth looked thoughtful. “Do you think he’s in trouble?”

Q frowned, rolled onto his side to scowl at his partner. “I doubt it. One or both of us would have been called in by now if the idiot had managed to break something. Why would you think he’s in trouble?” He stuffed the mobile under his pillow just as the screen illuminated with another incoming call.

"I presumed he must be having difficulty contacting whoever is on duty if he is disturbing you personally at this hour. It might be prudent to answer the call.” Rolling onto his side, facing away from his partner, Gareth settled down to sleep once more.

Q rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, fingers itching to pull the mobile from under the pillow. The bastard wasn’t in trouble. He was intent on causing trouble. Q knew he should be angry, but the late night phone calls had become something of a thrill he anticipated. At least lying alone in his one bedroom flat he did. Somewhat different when sharing a bed with your long term partner. As Q rolled over the phone sent a glowing blue light from under the pillow.

“Good lord, Q. Just answer the damn phone then perhaps we can both get some sleep.”

“Where are you?” Q snapped into the phone. The answering low chuckle had the small hairs at the nape of his neck prickling. “What do you want, Bond? It's almost two in the morning here.”

“I’m well aware of the time, Quartermaster. I’m currently in your office.” Familiar creak of his office chair in the way it always did when he locked the door and took some personal time. Q felt his cheeks heat and his cock twitch at the thought of Bond in his office, doing just that. Bond’s breathing was quick and shallow, and Q had seen enough of the agent naked in recent weeks to picture him lounging in Q’s office chair, trousers pushed to mid-thigh, and cock in hand.

“Christ, you really are a bastard, 007.” Gareth shifted beside him. Impatient. Tired. “Let me know when it's done and what else you need. The morning will be soon enough.”

“Is Mallory awake? Damn. I thought we could do this together.” Bastard. He knew that was impossible. Knew Q would be lying next to Gareth, angry and increasingly turned on.

“Yes. And no. No way.” He should hang up. No need to wait around for the climax.

Bond’s words were punctuated now with groans and gasps worthy of a porn star. “Just calling to inform you I have returned your gun in one piece. The case is on your desk. Also, I bought you a little something. Blue box, top left hand drawer of your desk. Open it alone. If you like it, bring it with you on Saturday.” Bond gave a sudden shuddering cry that settled in Q’s balls. “I’ll text you the hotel. It will be a suite. And yes, I will clean up my mess before I go.”.


	5. Chapter 5

“I think you should leave him Q.” Bond poured more champagne into Q’s glass and dropped a second fresh raspberry into it causing the wine to fizz to the rim.

“Oh do you? And why the hell would I want to do that Bond?” Q sipped and regarded his lover over the top of the slim flute. “It's not like this is going anywhere for you to be making requests like that. Does eight years mean nothing to you?”

“About as much as it means to you Quartermaster. However you prefer to justify it, we are having an affair.” Bond leaned down and took a kiss somehow managing to make the slide of his tongue between Q’s parted lips seem obscene.

“Low blow, Bond” Q huffed, licking the taste of bitter dark chocolate from Bond’s mouth. The dessert plate had been scraped clean but Q always had time for more chocolate, preferably while impaled on the agent’s rather impressive cock.

“You’re the one with the two hundred Euro plug up his arse” Bond chuckled.

Q shifted in his seat so it nudged against his prostate. Bond’s gift from Grenoble. Q was glad he’d heeded Bond’s warning to open it alone. A dark blue leather box, too large for jewellery. Too large even for a watch. And what would jewellery signify about this non-relationship?

“Affair implies feelings. Essentially we’re just fucking and playing with pretty toys.” Q grinned, swiping his finger through the chocolate sauce and sucking it clean.

Well, it was jewellery of a sort Q supposed. The curved titanium bulb was beautiful, polished to a mirror shine. It had caught the light from the desk lamp as he turned it admiring its design. Lighter than it looked, he stroked it's smooth surface and let his imagination run.

Being constantly filled was a new sensation that had Q permanently semi-aroused. “Dinner arrives in twenty minutes” Bond said, removing Q’s clothes with practiced efficiency and working him open with slicked up fingers until Q was hard and begging to be fucked. “Once we’ve eaten” the bastard said, dipping it into the ice bucket alongside the bottle of champagne, slicking it up and then easing the chilled metal into Q’s hole. Q was embarrassed to admit he almost cried when he came in Bond’s hand.

“What if there’s more to this Q? What if I have feelings for you?” Bond said seriously.

Q looked at him steadily, hand drifting to his cock underneath the hotel robe. “Then I suggest you bury them 007. Right after you’re done burying your cock in my arse. Gareth returns from Munich tomorrow at three. You need it out of your system by then.”

* * *

“More wine, Dominique?” Gareth smiled at the blonde seated to his left, proffering the wine bottle and then setting it back down. “Actually, this one is almost done. Do we have more in the kitchen?”

Q jumped up, patting his pocket and smiling at his partner. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure we do. Let me just go and look. Back in a minute.” He scurried out to the kitchen, phone in hand almost before he was out of sight, reading the message and smirking. He half-heartedly pulled a few bottles out of the wine rack, sliding them back in while he hurriedly typed out a reply.

“Does he recommend the Shiraz or the Merlot?” Moneypenny’s voice sounded behind him. “Bond. I heard the rumours. I assume that’s who you’re so eager to talk to.”

“None of your business, Eve” And really that wasn’t what he should have led with. “There’s nothing going on” he added belatedly.

Eve was in his face, reaching for the phone. “What are you playing at Q? He will literally fuck anything that breathes. Don’t get involved. You’re going to mess up the best thing that ever happened to you for a fling that will last two weeks if you’re lucky. Bond doesn’t do relationships. He’s a hit and run merchant.”

Q wanted to say ‘you don’t know him like I do’ but actually he didn't know Bond that well at all. For all he knew, Bond really would drop him after half a dozen ‘dinner and a fuck’ sessions, but something told him that this was different. When Bond says he ‘has feelings for you’ you sit up and take notice. Bond would choke on a lie like that, so there must be a significant element of truth in it. But Q couldn't think about that…

Actually Q acknowledged he was thinking largely with his cock. James Bond was a bloody good fuck and was teaching Q all kinds of things about himself and his sexual preferences that he hadn’t even dreamt of. Q adored the plug. Q loved James’ mouth anywhere near his arse hole. Q was emotionally and physically addicted to the slick grip of Bond’s hand as he brought Q off in any one of a dozen inappropriate places. Q got hard just thinking about James-bloody-Bond.

But Q loved Gareth Mallory. Stuffy old politician, twenty years his senior. Boring, staid, fusspot though he may be, Q cannot imagine a life without him.

They waved their guests off into the night, fond kisses all round. Evie grabbed him and said “Don’t fuck this up just for a good fuck” and Q giggled until long after she left.

2am and they have had their regular satisfying sex. Gareth is showered, dressed in his pyjamas, already in bed cradling a book. Q rubbed at his hair haphazardly with a towel and then pulled on a tshirt and pyjama pants, slipping between the sheets.

“I must admit Bond has surprising staying power” Gareth said into the immediate darkness as soon as Q turned out the light. “I really had expected him to have given up by now.”

“I’m sorry?” And Q winced that it came out more as an apology than a question, still leaning up on one elbow facing away from his partner.

He sensed that Gareth was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He could tell by the measured manner of his speech that they are words Gareth has prepared. Can tell by the dull lifeless tone that Gareth does not believe he is saying them out loud. “I am happy. With the way things are, I mean. I will be honest with you, as I’ve always been. I don’t see our future to be anything other than it is today. I love you deeply and would not lose you, but this way of life suits me, and the challenges of our respective roles. Please consider carefully if your relationship with Bond should continue. Goodnight.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Gareth knows about us” Q gasped, turning his head to the side and dragging in a steadying breath.

“And you tell me this now? You pick your moments, Q” Bond grunted barely breaking rhythm as he thrust into his Quartermaster. He concentrated on the slick grip of Q’s arsehole as he stared at his cock disappearing into the young man’s body.

Q felt a thin trickle of sweat run down his neck. His entire body felt taut with the effort of not coming, damp with sweat and aching with need. Bond, the bastard, could keep him close, taking him to the edge and then easing down repeatedly.

“So what happens now?” They could have been discussing it over dinner. Bond’s tone was conversational and Q would have shrugged dismissively. Would have, had Bond not shackled him tightly to Q’s own headboard. Arms stretched deliciously above his head. It was all he could do to keep breathing. Any spare breath would soon be required for begging if the bastard didn’t let him come soon.

"We end it I suppose.”

Bond did falter then, hips stilling in shock. No. Not happening. He wouldn’t lose him. “No!” The denial fell sharply from his lips and then he was moving again, fucking into his lover angrily. No. No. No, you are not choosing him over me.

Q heard it even though the words weren’t uttered. He buried his face in the mattress, panting hot breath into the dark space between his stretched arms. Bond finally touched Q’s cock, dragging his orgasm from his shaking body in quick merciless tugs. Before Q had any chance to recover Bond pulled out and painted the length of Q’s sinuous back with hot splashes of cum.

Bond collapsed beside him, breathing heavily. “I won’t let you go” he said to the ceiling. “This is too good. You know it is.”

“It's not your decision.” Q eased himself down to the mattress, chest and belly dropping to the cold sticky sheets, shoulders starting to scream with the strain of being held so long.

“What if it was? What if-?”

“If?” Bond wouldn’t promise him anything, Q knew that. Couldn’t. He didn’t do relationships. He did this. Fucking other people's partners, no strings attached.

There were no strings, but filmy threads were binding them together, delicate and strong, like spider silk.

Expensive hotel suites had given way to Bond’s equally luxurious apartment. Snatched hours and stolen weekends when Mallory was out of town had become plans that they worked around Q’s relationship schedule.

And finally this. Bond in Q's space. In Q’s bed. Fucking Q on sheets bought by his partner. Taking him apart, making him feel desired and… Needed.

Bond released Q's wrists, checking them over for trauma. Massaging Q’s shoulders and arms until he was satisfied his lover suffered no more than a pleasant ache. He folded him against his chest, wrapping the curls around his fingers while Q dozed.

“What if I want to come home to you? What if I need you to be here?”

Q couldn’t give him an answer.

* * *

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” Mallory bellowed at him, palms flat on the desk, face contorted with rage.

Q squared his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. Met his superior’s furious glare head on. Unflinching. Defiant. He had never witnessed his partner this angry in all of the years they had been together. Superior. Not partner. But could either of them separate the two now?

Mallory was red in the face, all the way into his thinning hair. He snarled at the Quartermaster. “You made the wrong choice.” And he wasn’t talking about the monumental cock up of a mission. Not entirely.

Mallory flung himself away from the desk and braced both hands above his head against the window pane. Control. He needed control. Control of himself and control of the situation. He breathed deeply, focused on the raindrops in front of his eyes. When he turned back Q hadn’t moved.

“Explain it to me” Mallory spat “in terms that will save your sorry arse from the disciplinary hearing and will not force me to tender my resignation.”

“I carried out my duties to the best of my abilities. Any errors of judgement were mine and mine alone. I take full responsibility for any and all consequences of my actions” he intoned, looking Mallory straight in the eye.

“Oh, that's alright then. You take responsibility for the fact your-“ Lover. No, he wouldn’t allow Q that. “For the fact the man you are fucking - is on the operating table right now and three others are critically injured.” Sarcasm dripped like acid. “You take responsibility for the fact you allowed the target to escape in order to save the man you are fucking. And as a result three high profile political figures are now either dead or missing.”

“I made a judgement call to preserve an MI6 asset.”

Mallory took a step back and rubbed a hand through his barely-there hair, mouth twisted in distaste.

“Who are you, that you can stand there and dismiss him so coldly? Relegate him to simply an asset.” Mallory slumped. Became Gareth. Pale blue ice melted, pain flooded in. “I asked you to end it. I knew something like this would happen.”

"You asked me to consider whether or not my relationship with Bond should continue.” Q’s eyes flicked back to his partner. “I decided that in light of your reluctance to give more of yourself, that it should.” He stood straighter, stared at the wall behind Gareth and tried not to think of blood and pain and a weakening voice on his comms calling him a bloody fool.

"You ask who I am Gareth? I am the Quartermaster of MI6 and I am tasked with making the difficult choices. I chose to save him.”

“Well.” Gareth turned away, became his superior once more. “I hope you both can live comfortably with that choice.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I’ve been reinstated. Mallory isn’t happy with the decision but on balance it was considered I was too great a risk to be ‘let go’. There’s an official indelible black mark on my file.”

Q stood with one hand resting uncertainly on the back of the visitors’ chair. Unsure of his welcome. Bond arrived in Medical two days previously following a difficult two week stay in the Turkish medical facility. His bare chest was partially covered by a heavy white dressing. Underneath, a three inch healing wound. Bullet retrieval, bone debris removal. Shattered rib and a punctured lung that was still proving troublesome.

“Mallory?” The single word question was an effort, forced out with a wheeze. Bond wanted to cough but it hurt too much. Almost as much as crushing his feelings down inside.

Q looked at the battered agent, wondering how much he knew. How much to tell. Bond had only been through the scantest debrief. More would come in the next few days. And Bond would know the extent of his unprofessionalism and the consequences of it. “M. My boss.” He looked away. “Gareth and I are no longer together” a pause “so… That makes me entirely your problem.”

Bond made a noise that might have been a laugh. Difficult to tell. Encouraged, Q pressed on. “You get your ‘someone to come home to’ finally” he said brightly. “We can-“

“No!” Bond interrupted. Q stalled. His mouth worked silently trying to formulate a question. Bond saved him the trouble. “No,” he gasped out painfully. Gestured weakly to his chest. “This. Was a fuck up.” He panted with the effort of speaking, tried to roll onto his side but was prevented by the stretch of the IV.

Q nodded. Felt his stomach lurch like the drop of a rollercoaster. “Right,” still nodding, like a nodding dog. “Yes, of course. My fuck up. You’ll need time to…” What? Recover? Forgive? He turned on his heel. If he wasn’t there, Bond couldn’t elaborate and…

“Q…? Wait…”

The door opened just as Q reached it. Mallory stood in his way, scowl on his face. Q bowed his head and attempted to move past him but Mallory blocked his exit. “I would appreciate it if the pair of you could at least attempt to be discreet. The gossip and rumours of your relationship are already humiliating enough.”

He glared over Q’s head at the agent who slumped back onto the bed. “I expect nothing better from you Bond, but you…” Gareth looked down at Q briefly before Mallory reasserted himself. Even so, he spoke quietly so only Q could hear him. “I was willing to overlook a great deal, Q. You’re young. Easily seduced. But I always believed you would have your priorities in order. Bond may not be honourable, but his sense of duty to Queen and Country is infallible. It’s a shame yours so easily deserted you.”

* * *

"Are you completely incapable of running that man?" Mallory glared at Q across the desk. "Half of bloody Dubrovnik harbour is burning. Millions of pounds worth of damage and a beacon to Amstell that Bond is in the city."

"Amstell knew Bond was there the second the woman left Bond's suite this morning." Q said, trying to suppress the bitter tone. Mallory didn't miss it of course, glancing sharply at him and pressing his lips into a thin line, no doubt to bite back a remark. "And with respect... Sir... I can hardly be held responsible for Bond's questionable decisions."

Q counted himself amongst them. Certainly he could sympathise with the fiery demise of each and every yacht and motorboat currently sinking into the depths of the Croatian water. The one Bond had commandeered to wreak his impressive destruction had exploded on impact with the harbour wall. Bond had of course walked into his hotel suite without a scratch three hours later.

Red hot passion for his Quartermaster appeared to have been doused just as effectively. Since Turkey three months earlier, Bond had turned into the consummate professional around Q. Apart from the impressive trail of destruction that only seemed to occur when Q was on the comms.

"Respect? I think we can agree within these four walls there is very little of that remaining." Mallory threw the latest intelligence onto the desk between them. "Get him out of there. He's needed in Paris, day after tomorrow."

Q picked up the slim file. There had been no real need for Mallory to summon him; Tanner could have delivered the Intel to his workstation. It was just another excuse to poke at him through his ex-lover. Q thought about apologising but the time for that was weeks past. "Sir" he said brusquely and left the office.

As soon as the door closed Mallory slumped into his chair, head in hands. He was too old to change. Had thought so for years, set in his ways even in his early forties. Hadn't really considered the need because Q could always be brought around to his way of thinking. They worked as they were, both personally and professionally, and there was no need to share living space. Mallory was not one to brood normally. If he lost a fair contest he shook the winner's hand and moved on. He sighed. Losing the prize had never felt so painful.

Q handed the Intel over to R with instructions to get Bond on the first flight to Paris the following day. "The sooner he's out of Croatia the better. M is on the warpath and I need to make myself scarce so I'm going to do what everyone is constantly nagging me to do. Sleep."

R patted his arm sympathetically. "Leave it with me. Get some rest and don't come back here until Thursday at the earliest."

Three days to entertain himself. Sounded like hell. He quietly packed up his messenger bag and left the building.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter...

The chink of glass and the glug of Scotch being poured. Q tried to prise his eyes open but once he was soundly asleep it was so hard. Half a bottle of Glenfiddich weighed his lids down too. Perhaps he was dreaming...

"We need to talk."

Fuck! Not dreaming then. Not in any condition to talk though.

"Then you need to listen while I talk." Bond growled. 

Oh. So he said that out loud, and Bond was in his bedroom at... He checked the clock, squinting at the large red illuminated numbers... "Three twenty six in the morning?" Q fumbled for his glasses, cursing when they fell onto the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be in Paris?"

"I took a detour." Q felt his glasses being pressed into his hand and reluctantly forced his eyes all the way open, placing them on his face and then punching the pillow into a more solid lump behind his head. Bond looked tired. Q felt pissed. As in 'room swaying' pissed, not angry. He was surprised at the resigned irritation.

"... Are you even listening?" Bond swallowed the rest of the glass angrily and poured another. 

"Why are you angry? I should be angry. You've broken into my house to drink my whisky and yell at me in the middle of the night when you should be in Paris." Q huffed, pushing all the hurt away that was threatening to bubble up and spill out. "You left me." And he hadn't meant to say that, or to sound quite so petulant.

Bond jerked in his seat, and Q realised that the agent had wheeled his desk chair into the bedroom so he could sit close to the bed. "I'm not shouting" Bond pouted. "But I am drinking your whisky. I deserve it after everything you've put me through."

"What?" Q peered blearily at him in the dim room. He was weary and drunk and hurting. And the reason for all three was poking at him. At.... "Three thirty two, Bond. Say what you want to say and go to Paris. R will have a fit if you don't check in with her."

"I want to say... Fuck!" Bond slammed the empty glass down on Q's bedside table and pushed his fingers through his hair. The short strands stood upright adding to the blond man's aggressive silhouette. "You fucked up, Quartermaster, not to put too fine a point on it. In the field, when it mattered, you let personal feelings get in the way of your duty."

"Yes. That has been pointed out to me." Q said dully. "A disciplinary committee wrote a very nice report on it. I'm sure if you hack the right servers you'll find it. My ex-partner takes every opportunity to remind me of it." He rubbed at his eyes, nudging his glasses up to his brow. "Fine. Have your say. It's your right, although why we need to do this in the middle of the night-"

"Will you shut up!" Bond growled, leaning forwards in this seat. "Why? I want to know why? Need to know why people died. And need to know it won't happen again."

Q slumped against the pillow. "It won't happen again. You have made your position clear."

"Have I? And what was that?" Bond poured more whisky and knocked the entire glass back.

"Are you trying to forget or drown your sorrows?" Q snapped. "Buy your own damn whisky."

"Answer the bloody question, Q. In what way was I so clear that you completely cut me off? You walked out of Medical and never came back! You left me in that bloody place, and what? You went off to lick your imaginary wounds and forgot I had a fucking hole in my chest?" Bond was leaning over him now, smelling of alcohol and gun oil. 

"I saved your life, you ungrateful bastard."

"Yes you did. And condemned three more. Those we were supposed to protect" Bond spat. "You should have let me die. Done your duty. So why the hell didn't you?" 

Q was silent. This wasn't fair. Bond was not playing fair. At three forty seven in the fucking morning, Bond was demanding the one answer Q didn't want to give.

"Answer me, damn you!" Bond whispered harshly. He was so close Q could feel his breath on his lips. "Please."

"I love you. There! Is that what you want to hear?" Q was shaking, pressing his head into the pillow away from Bond, turning so he wouldn't have to see the anger in the agent's eyes.

Bond had one knee on the bed, hands braced either side of Q's head. "Only if it's the truth. People died, Q. I want it to be for a reason other than my Quartermaster made a bad choice." Bond nuzzled into Q's neck. "I'm a selfish man, Q, and not a good one. I live for Queen and Country and will no doubt die for the same. That meant nothing to me until I was lying on a fucking Turkish street, bleeding out, and you were telling me to hold on. That the fucking mark was running, but to hell with that, because you weren't going to leave me until the med team got there."

"I didn't" Q said softly.

"No, you didn't. You fucked up, and I have never been so grateful in my life. Or felt so guilty."

"I'm sorry?" Q murmured. 

Bond's lips travelled up his neck, along his jaw. "I'm not. Not anymore" Bond kissed him deeply, easing down to the bed.

Two hours later Q jerked awake to find the dream was all too real and was silently pulling on his trousers in the pre-dawn light. "Bond?"

The agent bent and kissed Q's tousled head. "Paris, remember?"

Q nodded, pulled the duvet up to his chin like armour. "Of course. Thank you for stopping by. I hope my answers proved satisfactory."

Bond sighed and cupped Q's cheek. "Don't. Somehow we'll work it all out, missions, Mallory, and all. Life isn't fair, love even less so. But right now..."

"Paris..."

"Paris," Bond agreed. The door clicked shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end, and there is no plan to continue this story. I did what I set out to do and got them together. You decide how successful Bond and the Quartermaster are at building a relationship after Paris.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos. All very much appreciated :-)


End file.
